


We Don't Talk About It

by Nuanta



Series: As We Are [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, there's a happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People talk all the time about the physical struggles of recovering from a major surgery. No one ever warned Jamie about the mental ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Talk About It

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, in part, by my own personal experience with mental illness. This was extremely emotionally taxing to write, so much so that I refuse to go over it and edit it now that it's done. Still, I had enough conviction to write it, so I figure it deserves to be shared anyways. Also, I'm pretty sure I want to write a very happy (and potentially very smutty) coda, so there you go.
> 
> Warning: Jamie suffers from depression following his hip surgery. There are no suicidal thoughts, but it's still not pretty and could be potentially upsetting to read about. I apologize in advance for that.
> 
> EDIT: One of the comments brought this to my attention, and I figured I should mention it: 
> 
> On April 22nd, Daniel Carcillo had an article and video featured in The Player's Tribune talking about athletes struggling with depression. That night, I posted this fic. Even though I had in fact watched the video that day, it was entirely a coincidence on my part (I started writing this on the 20th, with every intention of posting on the 22nd). However, I can't imagine a more fitting timing for this piece. I think it's so important to raise awareness about mental illness, and I really admire Carcillo for speaking out like he did. I'm glad I arbitrarily decided to post this on the same day.

~o~

The surgery is a resounding success – well, so the doctors tell him. Jamie doesn’t remember anything from the operation; he’d been under the entire time, in what was probably the strangest dream state he’d ever experienced. He hadn’t been able to tell if he was floating or sinking, bathed in light or shrouded in darkness, but an unmistakeable feeling of emptiness had gnawed at him. He can’t remember anything else, only that he’d woken up to Jordie’s smiling face.

Tyler FaceTimes him almost immediately after the nurse leaves the room and Jordie texts him that Jamie’s awake and alert – well, mostly, anyways. Jamie’s still a little out of it, in that strange, tired haze that comes post-anesthesia, that should be relaxing but actually isn’t, but he smiles at Tyler all the same when Jordie hands him his phone.

“Hey, hotshot,” Tyler whistles. He’s grinning.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Look who’s talking.” The reply comes easily.

“How do you feel?” Tyler asks, features softening, genuine now.

Jamie thinks about it for a moment. “Tired,” he settles on finally. “Weird.”

“I guess that’s normal, though,” Tyler says. “Wish I could be there with you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jamie sighs, only realizing what he’s said once the words are already out of his mouth. “I mean, um.” He stares firmly at Tyler’s chin, refusing to acknowledge the hardened expression on his face.

The air in the room is thick for a moment, broken by footsteps approaching from the hall.

Jordie hastily grabs his phone out of Jamie’s hands. “We should put this away before the nurse gets back,” he says. Jamie nods, a lump caught in his throat. “Catch ya later, Segs.”

“Yeah, bro,” he hears Tyler answer. “Take it easy, Chubbs!” That, at least, makes Jamie smile.

…until he sees the look Jordie’s giving him.

Jordie gives him a long sigh. “Seriously, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let him stay with you.”

Jamie shakes his head. “I’ve got you,” he reasons. “You’re my brother.”

“And he’s your boyfriend.”

“He’s got other obligations,” Jamie says. “You’re family; you have no choice.”

Jordie’s visibly annoyed now. “That’s a load of bullshit and you know it.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Jamie asks tiredly. Luckily, he’s spared continuing the confrontation when the nurse appears in the doorway to check his IV, and Jordie reverts back to being the protective, responsible older brother.

Jamie’s grateful for the distraction. He wants Jordie around very badly; he just doesn’t want to talk about the argument anymore. He and Tyler pretty much have a wordless agreement to refuse to acknowledge it happened, so he doesn’t see why Jordie feels the need to bring it up. It’s not like Jamie and Tyler aren’t solid.

Jordie stays by his side for the entire first week after the surgery. Jamie had talked with the team doctors beforehand; they agreed it would be best if he stayed in Dallas for the summer, where he could work with the trainers all through the offseason as he recovered. Jamie lamented not being able to spend the summer back in Victoria, but Jordie delayed his flight home to wait until Jamie was well enough to manage on his own first, and his parents and friends promised to fly down to visit him.

Jamie will never admit it out loud, but he kind of wishes more people would come visit him during the first few days after the surgery, when he’s forced to remain in a dingy hospital bed, stomach constantly growling despite getting fed through IV. Jordie’s around constantly, some of the boys come to visit (once Jamie’s allowed to eat solids again, Spezz and his wife stop by with a get-well-soon cake), and he Skypes with Tyler and his buddies up in Canada, but the moment they’re gone the room feels void of any life.

He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Jordie can tell. He doesn’t bring up Tyler’s absence anymore, for which Jamie is grateful, and instead he talks about their parents’ fast-approaching visit.

“Mom and Dad will be down in a few days, once you’re discharged,” he reminds Jamie. “Mom’s gonna fuss over you like you’re a little baby.” He stops and laughs. “Well, you _are_ her little baby, I guess it fits!”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Shut up and help me stand; I’m due for a walk.”

Having to rely on crutches to move fucking sucks. Jamie hates that he can’t even get out of the bed without someone by his side to help him. It’s painful, too. The meds help dull the throbbing, but it’s still a grim reminder of Jamie’s current weakness. This isn’t something he can tough through like he did during the regular season. Jamie’s vulnerable now, at the mercy of the doctors and physical therapists and occupational therapists and whoever else is around to guide him through his recovery.

He can’t take charge anymore.

Instead, he has to trust that the people around him will lead him to a full recovery. And he does trust them, there’s no doubt about that. But there’s just something about this whole thing that leaves him with a sort of sense of impeding dread, looming ominously at the edges of his awareness, and he’s helpless to fight it on his own.

He wants to fight it. He has to.

~o~

Jamie’s alone.

Okay, that’s not exactly true. He’s still seeing trainers and therapists and doctors and diligently going through all the light exercises they prescribe for him, with minimal amounts of discomfort and pain.

His parents and Jordie go back to Victoria after Jamie’s been cleared to walk without crutches and drive again, about a month after the surgery. He’d been hoping to get the okay after three weeks, but it turns out that was asking for a bit too much too soon.

Jordie helps him convince their parents that Jamie would be able to take care of himself, and Jamie promises his mother at least eighteen times that he’ll call Spezz or another teammate the moment he needs any sort of help with anything, should the event ever come up. Spezz even does Jamie a favor and visits to promise Jamie’s mom in person that he’d be available to help if needed.

Now that Spezz is settled long term in Dallas with his family, he’s easy to call on from time to time. Actually, Spezz invites Jamie over for dinner at least twice a week. Jamie’s grateful, and he likes Spezz’s wife’s cooking just as much as he enjoys the company of their little girls, that is to say, a lot.

It still feels like something is missing, though, but Jamie can’t for the life of him figure out what. It’s an ache in his chest, dim but ever-present.

He doesn’t always feel it, though. He Skypes with Tyler whenever he can, which basically means whenever Tyler’s available, because his schedule is a lot more hectic than Jamie’s, fundraisers and golf tournaments and strength training and socializing and all the things Jamie wishes he could be doing as well. Usually they just type away in the chat box, but sometimes they’ll set up a quick video call. It’s during these calls, when Jamie can see Tyler’s too-wide smile and hear his ridiculous laugh, that the knot loosens a bit, and he feels a little more whole.

It doesn’t feel like it’s getting him all the way where he wants to be, but it counts for something. Sometimes.

Progress is maddeningly slow. The doctors tell him he’s on track, that there’ve been no setbacks so far, but he can never make the earliest points in the timeframes they give him. He’s always somewhere in the middle, in that weird average territory that’s almost foreign to him now. He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“You’re doing fine,” Tyler assures him over a Skype call. “You’re not behind schedule, you’re good.”

“Rather be ahead,” Jamie grumbles.

Tyler chuckles. “You’re being dumb,” he says, his tone light, smiling fondly. “Anyways, don’t worry about it too much. I’ve been there, remember?”

Jamie remembers. He also remembers that Tyler’s recovery frame was three to six weeks, and Tyler made it back in three. He tries to ignore the heaviness creeping up on him, tingling his spine.

“I, uh, I’ve been sitting for too long,” he says. “I should probably get up and move a bit.”

Tyler checks his watch and nearly jumps out of his seat as he lets out a startled yelp of, “Oh, shit! I’ve gotta get going myself. I promised my sisters I’d take them out to dinner. Catch you later, Chubbs! Take it easy!”

Jamie makes a show of rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Tyler before closing the call.

Once that’s over with, he exhales loudly, checks his phone and finds a text from Spezz.

_Come over for supper? BBQ night_

Jamie stares at the words for a long time, thinks about spending an evening with the Spezzas, and feels absolutely nothing. Dimly, he wonders if that should be a problem, but he can’t bring himself to care.

_Not tonight, sorry. Another time. Thanks for the offer._

_You sure? We leave for our vacation next week so now’s your last chance ;)_

_It’s fine. Thanks again though. Have a nice trip._

Then he turns off his phone.

So now Jamie’s really alone.

He hobbles his way down the stairs to the kitchen and sighs when he sees the same mess that was there yesterday. Dishes pile up in the sink, the stove is covered with used pots and pans, and the counter is littered with cutlery and cutting boards and random empty boxes from the delivery he’d ordered a few days ago. He stares at the mess for a short while, as if that would somehow make it disappear, and then slinks over to the living room and lets himself sink into the couch.

He contemplates ordering delivery again, but he’d just turned his phone off and left it in his room, and he doesn’t really feel like tackling stairs again anytime soon. He can feel himself getting hungry, and there’s food he can cook with, but there are so many dirty dishes that there’s no way he can make himself anything unless he cleans up first. So really, he should just bite the bullet and clean, but…he can’t.

Part of him thinks that maybe this is a problem. Most of him just wants to disappear into the couch and never come out. It’s comfortable here, or at least as comfortable as he’s gonna get. It would be better if Tyler was with him.

That’s not happening, though. Jamie made sure of that.

Instead, Jamie curls into the couch as best he can and waits. For what, he doesn’t have the slightest clue.

He waits anyway.

~o~

It’s getting worse.

It feels like a chore to drag himself out of bed (or, more often these days, off the couch) in the mornings to get ready for god knows what appointments the day has in store for him: physio, osteo, doctors – the works. Once he’s there, it’s not so bad; it helps to have someone ordering him around, giving him something to focus on during his rehab, a guide to make decisions for him when Jamie doesn’t know how to be autonomous anymore. (Which is pretty much all the time. He’s not kidding himself.)

Sometimes he wonders what the point of it all is, and then he remembers his career. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But he gets these momentary lapses where he actually forgets what the end goal of all of this is. Or where, despite the doctor’s encouraging words, he forgets that he’s actually on track for a full recovery, and this isn’t going to ruin him forever.

He hasn’t gone for groceries in a while, and his fridge and freezer are slowly depleting themselves. He keeps telling himself he needs to go shopping, that he’ll do it on the way back from one of his appointments one of these days. It hasn’t happened yet.

He keeps telling himself he’ll take an afternoon and do a full clean-up of the kitchen. That hasn’t happened either. The longer he waits, the guiltier he feels, because he wasted all this time doing nothing, and now he’s run out of time. But then even more time goes by and it turns out he would have had time all along, so that just sets off another wave of guilt. It’s stupid as fuck, but it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to get out of.

(That’s not exactly true. He knows it’s as simple as breaking the cycle. The breaking it is the real problem. He can’t seem to bring himself to do it.)

He finds himself lying to his parents or Jordie when they call, making his progress sound better than it actually is. He doesn’t want to say anything to make them worry; he knows they’d fly back to see him the moment they feel like something’s wrong. His stomach lurches unpleasantly at the prospect. He can’t do that to them. He won’t do that to them.

It’s a little bit better with Tyler. When they’re in a video call, Jamie relaxes somewhat, just as easily as Tyler smiles at him. It gives him something to smile about too.

So it fucking sucks when Tyler has less and less time for calls.

It’s not necessarily that Tyler doesn’t have the time. Sometimes he’s only on Skype later at night, when he’s worn and exhausted from the day’s events, so video calls just aren’t the best idea. Jamie can’t blame him. The problem is that Jamie’s words never seem to make it from his brain to his fingers to the chat window.

It would be okay, telling Tyler, he thinks. Jamie knows Tyler won’t react like his parents or Jordie would. Tyler wouldn’t buy a one-way flight to Dallas on the spot. He won’t visit, just like Jamie wants it. Wanted it.

Jamie doesn’t want it like that anymore.

It would be easy, apologizing to Tyler. Jamie knows Tyler won’t rub it in, knows that Tyler would forgive him. Things are good, between them. One argument won’t ruin them if others haven’t already. It’s part of what makes their relationship so strong.

Jamie doesn’t want Tyler to know how weak he is.

He’s supposed to be the captain of an NHL team, a leader, a go-to guy. He’s supposed to be living proof of where hard work and dedication can take you.

He’s exactly none of that right now.

Jamie’s also supposedly pretty good at this relationship thing, according to Tyler. He’s supposed to be a good boyfriend, a good listener, a good lover, a good communicator.

Yeah, he’s not doing any of that right now either.

He doesn’t think he can. He feels like he’s forgotten how.

Sometimes he’s so close to telling Tyler what’s going on. Sometimes he even has the message typed out: _I think there’s something wrong with me._ Except it’s not just a thought anymore. Jamie knows there’s something wrong – he even thinks he knows what it is – but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to be that forward about it. It feels wrong.

Not that it matters, anyways. He never hits the send button.

The length of time his finger hovers over the enter key varies, but in the end, the message is always erased and replaced with something else. The conversation carries on, leaving Jamie with an increasingly heavy heart, like he’s sinking deeper and deeper into a hole with no way out.

He wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

~o~

Jamie’s running out of clean shirts.

His clothes are all strewn across the floor, at least two articles of clothing in every room and hallway of the house because he just strips wherever he feels, these days. He keeps telling himself he really should do a load of laundry, but the moment he settles on the couch he just doesn’t want to move anymore, and by the time he does move (if he decides to sleep in his bed that night), well, he’s ready to sleep so it’s too late now.

Today he doesn’t even take off his shirt when he gets home from another physiotherapy session; he goes straight for the couch and collapses. The movement knocks his iPad off the armrest, but he doesn’t bother picking it up. He doesn’t want to move for a long, long time.

Time passes by weirdly this afternoon. He doesn’t even realize he’s wasted the whole afternoon and evening away until he hears his Skype ringing for a video call from his iPad on the floor and sits up, finally noticing that the room has gone dark and there’s no more sun looking through the windows.

He doesn’t answer in time, but he soon finds that the missed call is from Tyler, and he’s left a message: _u there?_

_I am now. Sorry about that._

_np, just got back from dinner. hows it goin_

Jamie types out the word _terrible_ and erases it almost immediately.

_Not bad. Need to eat and shower though. Physio was a workout._

_wasn’t ur physio this morning tho?_

Jamie gulps. Of course Tyler has a copy of Jamie’s schedule; Jamie gave it to him willingly. _Yeah._

_whatve u been doing all day then?_

He doesn’t want to lie to Tyler.

_Just lounging on the couch._

_did u do ur exercises this afternoon?_

He can’t lie to Tyler. _No._

_y not? have you been on the couch all day?_

_…yeah._

_jamie wtf r u ok?_

Jamie hesitates. He types the word _no_ and erases it. He types _I don’t know_ and erases that too. He waffles back and forth between both answers, but each time he reaches for the send button, he freezes and hits backspace right away.

Skype rings, and Tyler’s calling him on video. Jamie lets out a shuddering exhale and declines the call. His chest constricts and the air around him is heavier than it’s ever been. He thinks he should be panicking right now. He doesn’t know why he isn’t.

_jamie r u ok_

Jamie can’t stop shaking. This is so wrong. _I’m sorry._

_i need u to talk 2 me_

It feels like a rug’s been pulled out from under him, and he’s falling down, down, down. _I can’t. I’m sorry._

_just answer me 1 thing. do u need help?_

Yes, Jamie thinks, yes, yes I need help, I need help so badly right now because I don’t know what’s wrong and I can’t stop any of this. Shit, he’s spiraling, breaths coming out short and harsh. He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

When he looks at the timestamps, he realizes it’s been well over five minutes since Tyler asked his question. _I don’t know._

_do u want me 2 come see u?_

Jamie wants Tyler to come see him so badly, but this is so wrong, this isn’t at all what he wants, not like this. He doesn’t answer, instead buries his face into a cushion as he tries to remember what deep breaths are.

He loses track of time again until Skype pings with a new message.

_r u there?_

_can u answer my question?_

_I’m sorry._ He knows this is the world’s shittiest answer, and he feels even worse for sending it, but he doesn’t know what else he can do.

_its ok don’t be sorry_

_But I am._ Tyler needs to know this. Jamie needs Tyler to understand how much of a piece of shit he feels like, how sorry he is for everything. He needs Tyler not to hate him for it. He doesn’t know if he could survive otherwise.

_i know u r babe its ok_

_It’s not._

_maybe not right now but it will be, i promise_

_I’m so tired._ He doesn’t even know where that came from, but the words come easily this time, typed out and sent before he can even think of second-guessing himself.

_i need u to get urself a good nights sleep. rest up and ill grab the first flight out of here tmrw and ill come straight to see u and well deal with whats bugging u together ok?_

He’s still trembling all over and his heart rate is higher than it should be, but there’s a glimmer of hope in those words that appear across the screen. Tyler’s words. It’s…almost soothing, though he still feels mostly empty. _Okay. Good night._

_i love u, u know that right?_

Jamie lets out a long, full-body shudder and exhales loudly. _Yeah. I love you too._ And then he closes Skype for the night.

He’s never felt so drained before, down to his very core. The spark of hope that formed during that conversation is just on the edge of tangible; he wants to latch onto it and never let go, but it’s still just out of his reach. For now, all he can do is sleep.

~o~

Jamie sleeps through the morning, which is fine since he doesn’t have any appointments today. And hey, he was fucking exhausted. What’s not so fine is the way Tyler shows up with the spare key Jamie gave him to find the house a total disaster and Jamie sprawled motionless on the couch, an arm draped over the cushion under his head.

“Motherfucker!” It explodes out of Tyler the moment he’s through the entranceway, and Jamie winces, though he doesn’t get up to greet him. “What the f– Jamie? Jamie!”

“In the living room,” Jamie calls out, or tries to. His voice is hoarse and foreign to him suddenly, muffled in the cushion.

He refuses to look when Tyler’s footsteps stop in front of him. He can’t bear to see the expression on Tyler’s face. His heart pounds as he’s met with silence.

Finally, he hears Tyler breathe out, “Jesus fuck, Jamie.”

Jamie squeezes his eyes shut, clutches the cushion a little tighter. The last thing he needs right now is for Tyler to be mad at him.

He’s not expected Tyler to kneel in front of the couch and wrap him up in his arms as tightly as he can, pressing soft kisses all over the side of Jamie’s face that’s not buried in the cushion.

“Oh my god, Jamie,” Tyler gasps between kisses. “I’m so sorry. I should never have gone back home, I should’ve stayed with you during the surgery, or I should’ve at least planned to visit – I’m so sorry.”

And Jamie, he doesn’t understand any of what’s going on. Tyler should be angry, the whole thing was Jamie’s fault this whole time, so why is he the one apologizing?

“I told you not to,” Jamie mumbles, and it comes out as a weak whine. “I told you I didn’t want you around. I told you to go back home and have a proper summer.” The sob he lets out suddenly is broken, just like the rest of him. “I’m the one who got mad at you for no reason and sent you away and god, Tyler, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.”

Tyler strokes gently through his hair, and Jamie nearly shivers under his touch. Tyler smells fresh and clean and everything Jamie isn’t. He breathes him in like he can absorb it all into himself. “No, stop it, stop talking like that,” Tyler says. “Jamie, please, look at me.”

Jamie does as Tyler asks, because he doesn’t know what else to do at this point, and he can’t bear to let Tyler down more than he has already. He doesn’t find the horrified, disgusted expression he was expecting. Instead, Tyler’s features are soft, and his eyes are warm.

“I’m here now, okay?” Tyler says, gently brushing a tear out of the corner of Jamie’s eye. “We’re gonna fix this. I’ve got you.”

Emotion is suddenly thick in his throat, and Jamie can’t speak. Instead, he just nods and lets Tyler stroke his hair, arching into the touch as he shakes and shakes and tries to remember how to breathe.

Eventually, once Jamie’s body relaxes, Tyler stops, and his brow furrows slightly. “You never showered yesterday, did you?” Jamie shakes his head, and Tyler pats him on the shoulder. “All right, get up. We’re gonna go take a shower together.”

“I don’t want –” Jamie starts, but Tyler cuts him off.

“Doesn’t matter, you need a shower,” he says firmly. “Up, let’s go.”

Jamie really doesn’t want to, but mostly he doesn’t want to disappoint Tyler, so he groans and slowly lifts himself into a sitting position. From there, Tyler grabs his hands and pulls him to his feet, and Jamie lets Tyler lead him through his own house to the bathroom.

They get into the shower together and Tyler gently washes him all over. It’s not sexual by any means – Jamie wouldn’t be up for anything of the sort at this point anyways – but it’s warm and intimate and it’s something Jamie’s been missing for so long. With every broad sweep of the bath sponge across his shoulders, down his back, Jamie feels wanted again, cared for, valued.

It’s not that he wasn’t before. Maybe it’s just that he wasn’t letting himself feel it.

They manage to find clean clothes in Jamie’s room, and Jamie falls backwards onto the bed the moment he’s fully clothed again. Tyler looks like he wants to say something, but instead he just crawls over and cuddles next to Jamie, draping an arm across his stomach.

“Tired, really?” Tyler asks. “You’ve only been sleeping what, all morning?”

Jamie shakes his head. “It wasn’t really sleep,” he says slowly. “It’s not…restful.”

Tyler hums and maneuvers Jamie’s arm around him. They lie there in silence for a while, Tyler’s head rising and falling gently atop Jamie’s chest as Jamie breathes slow and deep.

“So how’d all of this start?” Tyler asks softly, tracing little lines down Jamie’s chest with his fingers.

Jamie takes a deep breath. “I’m not really sure,” he admits. “I think it might’ve been a lot of different things.”

“Your hip one of them?”

Jamie nods. “I’m not supposed to work through pain anymore. If I’m in pain, it’s bad. That’s… There’s so much I can’t control. And it’s so slow.”

Tyler sighs. “That’s the way this works,” he says. “You can’t always control everything. It’s like making playoffs, right? We had a chance, but the teams we were up against kept winning. We couldn’t have controlled that.”

“We could have if we’d played better at the start of the season,” Jamie argues.

“And if you hadn’t played the way you had, maybe you wouldn’t have needed surgery,” Tyler replies easily, with no malice. “What ifs won’t get us anywhere. It’s about what’s going on now, in the moment.”

Leave it to Tyler to understand living in the moment. Jamie smiles softly to himself.

“You’re still on track with your progress,” Tyler reminds him. “Everyone’s bodies are different and respond differently to different treatments. The trainers won’t let you fall behind, you know that.”

Jamie does know that, but it’s different, coming from Tyler. It’s a little more believable now.

He’s more relaxed now than he’s ever felt since before the surgery. He’s clean and warm all over, so it’s easy to let his eyes slip shut and focus on that, on the new lightness in his chest, knowing that Tyler’s right there next to him, pressed against his side.

When Jamie wakes up, the bed is empty beside him and his heart sinks. He knows now; he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He wants Tyler by his side, helping him like he promised he would. He doesn’t want to feel empty anymore. Being with Tyler’s made him feel like he can be whole again and now he’s – he can’t bear the thought of him leaving again.

He sits up. “Tyler?” he calls, desperately trying to keep the rising panic at bay. “Tyler!”

“Coming!” He hears footsteps bounding up the stairs, and then Tyler appears in the doorway, cheeks slightly pink. “You okay?”

Jamie exhales deeply and nods. “Didn’t know where you went,” he mumbles.

Tyler beams at him. “Don’t worry, I’d never leave you,” he says, and Jamie’s heart actually flutters, which hasn’t happened in forever. He joins Jamie back on the bed, folding him into a hug. “I decided to do some cleaning while you were asleep. I did a load of laundry and then I cleaned out the kitchen.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jamie says automatically, the guilt rising back again.

“Well, I did,” Tyler says matter-of-factly. “Just this once, though. I’m gonna hound you to keep things clean yourself from now on.”

That sounds…good. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Tyler’s mouth finds his, and they kiss. It’s nothing exciting, just the soft press of their lips against each other, but for now, it’s enough. Jamie gathers Tyler up in his arms, and they hold each other, keeping close.

Jamie pulls back slowly eventually. “Thanks,” he says.

Tyler meets his gaze. “Anytime, you hear me?” he answers seriously. “I’m gonna help you whenever I can, any way that I can.”

“I don’t know how long this’ll take,” Jamie admits. He feels better already, he really does – but there’s still that dread gnawing at him from within, threatening to swallow him up if he lets it. He wonders which of these feelings is more temporary.

“Doesn’t matter how long,” Tyler says firmly. “I’m here.”

Quite frankly, Jamie doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve this. He tries to tell himself that maybe this is what Tyler meant about there being things that he just can’t control – and that’s not a bad thing.

They cuddle together on the bed for a while longer before Tyler declares it time to go grocery shopping. Jamie doesn’t remember ever having this much trouble making decisions on what to buy, but every time he waffles on something Tyler is there to take charge. Jamie isn’t really in the mood to cook when they get back, so Tyler bosses him around the kitchen and they prepare food together. That night, Jamie sleeps with Tyler in his arms, and it’s the best sleep he’s had in a long, long time.

Things are far from perfect, though. Jamie worries they won’t be until his hip is fully recovered. Tyler tells him not to worry.

Throughout the recovery process, Tyler encourages him and cheers every time Jamie makes even the slightest bit of progress with his exercises. He rewards him for it, too: cooks up something he likes, treats him to ice cream, takes him on a date. Jamie doesn’t think he deserves this kindness, but Tyler is so sincere about it that he can’t help but play along.

There are still plenty of bad days and nights. Tyler’s always able to read the signs, and he always seems to find a way to make Jamie feel better. Just being there is enough, most of the time. Jamie’s stupidly grateful for something as simple as Tyler cuddling him in bed, murmuring words of encouragement until they both fall asleep.

“You’re good,” Tyler tells him one night after they’ve narrowly avoided Jamie having a breakdown, fingers carding through Jamie’s hair. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, closing his eyes and turning into the touch, so nice and gentle and warm. “I’m good.”

He opens his eyes again when Tyler’s fingers still suddenly, and finds Tyler staring. “What?” Jamie asks.

Tyler breaks into a wide smile. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that since I got here,” he says.

“Oh.” Jamie shifts against the mattress and looks up at the ceiling, trying to piece together his jumbled thoughts. “It’s not always like this, but right this moment? I guess I feel okay.”

Tyler beams and kisses him. “It’s a start,” he says. “This is really good, Jamie.”

And for the first time, Jamie actually believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Those first few thousand words were without a doubt the hardest words I've ever written in my life. I also had the stupidest thought while writing them about how my use of descriptive/diverse language was absolute garbage. Thing is, depression isn't pretty or poetic. It's crude and it's raw and it's repetitive and it's downright gross. I also struggled with the ending, because I never had someone physically by my side, only long-distance, but I like to think it could be this nice.
> 
> Anyways, kudos and comments are much appreciated. Thanks for taking the time to read this. I'm on tumblr if anyone would like to stop by and chat. You're more than welcome to!
> 
> nuanta-fic.tumblr.com


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